The Teacher

‘I’m all lost in the supermarket’
The words of the Clash song echoed around my mind but I wasn’t Lost in a Supermarket I was lost in Swindon’s outlet centre and I considered that to be markedly worse. The Outlet centre is a huge, soulless sprawl of shops in a converted railway works. Where once trains were lovingly constructed by skilled workers, now tat was carelessly sold by half-hearted shop assistants. Wannabe middle class punters wandered around looking for bargains on things they didn’t know they needed, with money they didn’t know they had. Maybe it’s harsh to call it soulless, if you listened closely you could hear the ghosts of the former workforce building ghost trains appalled by the tawdry commercialisation of their former factory.  

I wasn’t really lost, I could find the way out if I’d need to, and as soon as the moment came I would be gone like a flash, I was more lost in the brain, lost in life. How on earth had I ended up here, sweeping the floors and cleaning the loos in this monstrosity of shopping mall?

Just 8 months ago I had been the youngest deputy head teacher in Wales. A real success story, the world was my oyster. I’d already turned down two headships, waiting for the right school to come along. On top of that I’d just met Mary who was the girl I’d been waiting for. 

But then, the Police turned up at the school and I was led away in handcuffs in front of the entire staff and all the kids. 

Magda (not her real name)  was a sixteen year old who had developed a crush on me that had turned into a relationship. Luckily the relationship was played out in her fantasy but unluckily for me that didn’t stop her from talking about it to her friends in great detail. One of her friends told her parents, quite understandably they'd phoned the police. 

Suspension pending investigation. It didn’t help that my surname is File, Paedo File cried the headlines as my name and photo was all over the local newspapers and local news. 

The police quickly of course concluded that I had done nothing wrong. Magda told her stories which were full of implausible inconsistencies. I provided alibis and accounted for my movements, the police searched for but couldn’t find and evidence and eventually Magda confessed to making the whole thing up. 

I didn’t hate the police, they were only doing their job, had it been my daughter telling the stories, I would have wanted them to investigate the pervert just as thoroughly. But the press had no right to print my name without one scrap of credible evidence, while my colleagues went for the guilty until proven innocent approach too. 

Once my name was cleared, I was determined to return to school, to ride the punches, resume my career But I found it impossible. It wasn’t that I couldn’t forgive the colleagues who had cast the first stones and it wasn’t that I couldn’t deal with the gossip and innuendo from the kids. It was just that I didn’t trust a soul. I never wanted to be left alone with a student again in case lightening was about to strike twice. I had the yips, I’d lost confidence, the things that had made me a good teacher had deserted me; I no longer command respect.  So I left, walked away from the profession I loved, went to stay with my brother in Didcot and got a job cleaning toilets here so I can pay the mortgage and try to stay sane until my compensation claims come through. 

And Mary? Well, Mary didn’t wait to find out the truth, she didn’t need to, she just believed me from the outset. She is my silver lining. in all this. Despite her parents telling her to leave, despite the abuse she got on the street, despite the graffiti on her car, she stayed strong. So on my days off from this consumerist hell, I can still find my heaven.